The Doberman
by lamebrinii
Summary: A small town-girl gets a job opportunity of a lifetime, can she step up when it uncovers a world she never imagined?


remember a quote that once I read:

'Many causes are worth dying for, but no cause is worth killing for'.

I get the whole 'spread peace and love' stuff, and I hate to disagree with a Nobel Prize Winner but, there are some things so incredibly important, people wouldn't think twice about killing for them: family, money, love, power ... I never thought I'd be one of those people. So, how did I end up here? In a crowded ballroom at an elegant event among people whose shoes and watches cost more than my car, with this heavy 9mm in my steady hand, confidently aiming it at someone I knew. Or, at least thought I knew about to ... But lets start from the beginning before shit hit the fan ...

Here I come ...

"ISELA!"

"I need two more vodka seltzers for the Suite!"

I'm just your typical medium-town girl from Hollowridge, Colorado but for the last 6 months, I've been living in Las Vegas. All I want in life are good friends, a great education and someday, a family. First on the list, securing the 'great education' , witch is what brought me to Sin City ...

I said goodbye to my parents 182 days ago. My bags were packed and a hopefully non-psychopathic roomie waited for me in Vegas. I loved my family, but graduating from community college only did so much for me. I wanted more. I wanted to go to Columbia University and I was completely determined to pave my own way there. To be honest, the thought of it all made me super nervous. I'd spend 25 years in Colorado with my family. Now I was moving to a different state by myself and it was all setting in.

It turned out moving West was the only way I would ever be able to move East and go to an Ivy League school. So I did.

I got a job as a casino server thanks to my new roommate, and every day since has been nothing but hustle.

Great. This was literally the last thing I wanted to deal with. My bitch radar was ticking off the charts. Stealth. Be stealthy. Avoid contact.

Shauna: "Hey, Mel!"

Damnit. Her voice oozed with a sort of candy-coated venom. Shauna was the kind of girl you just knew talked shit about you behind your back. Or ... you, know to your face.

Shauna: "How long have you been waiting for drinks?"

"Not long. Maybe a minute."

Shauna: "Of course. Can't keep the High Rollers waiting right?"

I'd been dealing with this attitude for a while - and it's all because I have more High Roller shifts than anyone else. But I worked my ass off to get that schedule. I came in early, stayed late, covered shifts, cleaned up ... This schedule happened to put me on the shit list of a handful of servers, Shauna included. Sometimes I had a hard time biting my tongue ... I didn't want to say anything, but ...

"Girl, do you need some of my body spray? You smell like stale cigarettes and ball sweat."

Shauna: "You know, I wish I would've been the one to screw the boss for the good shifts. You sure are a trailblazer."

There were a million more words in my head that would destroy her. But that's as far as they ever got ... my head. I saw two tumblers slide towards me and I quickly balanced them on my tray, spinning around and out of there quick enough to give Seabiscuit a run for his money.

The yelling and slot machines quieted as I walked into the High Roller suite. The silence calmed me. I hated drama with every fiber of my being, I did not want to be a part of it. I did not want to be a bystander, I would rather be just ... invisible.

As I approached the poker table to serve the drinks from my tray, I noticed a new player.

He was so ... different than the usual High Rollers. I've grown familiar with the salt and pepper hair, the Rolex watches, the custom suits and combovers, but this guy was in a world completely of his own.

He couldn't have been older than thirty. His hair was carelessly unstyled, the sleeves of his expensive shirt were taut across his biceps and were messily pushed up and exposing tattoos. What seems like hundreds of tattoos, there was hardly any skin beside his gorgeous face that hadn't known the gaze of an ink-filled needle. He sat languidly at a table of millionaries, betting nearly $4,000 per hand. All while a straight-faced guard flanked him. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. He didn't belong, but he didn't care. He acted like he could buy out all the CEOs and tech millionaires at the table ... Who was this guy?

I'd been staring for too long ... I quickly served the drinks on my tray and took a moment to compose myself. I needed to put on my best bullshit smile and get back to work. Hopefully this guy tipped as big as he played.

"Good evening, sir. Can I get you a drink?"

I waited ... and waited. I felt the annoyance creep onto my face. His bodyguard must have noticed, and turned to acknowledge me. So I acknowledged him.

"What about you, sir? Can I get you something to-"

Jonah: "Shouldn't you be taking orders from people who matter?"

Unbelievable. Stay cool. Think of tips ...

"I'm sorry, sir. What can I get you?"

Lucky for me, my smooth customer service voice was practically second nature. But my face refused to fake a smile. Which was fine, considering Tats McDickhead hadn't even looked away from the table. Until now. Of course his eyes went right to my chest.

"Sir?"

Jonah: "Lilac? Your name is Lilac?"

This motherfu-

I used my middle name on my name tag. It gave me a sense of safety, what with the hundreds of people I dealt with everyday.

Jonah: "Are you a server or one of those girls on the cards out front?"

This man did not just ask if I was an escort.

"I'm a SERVER, that would be happy to SERVE you a drink. But you'll have to give your order first."

Jonah: "Whiskey. Neat."

" What about you? Can I get you something to drink?"

Cohen (bodyguard): "No, thank you."

Well, he seemed infinitely nicer than his boss.

I waved Isela down right away for the order.

Isela: "What's up, girl? What do you need?"

"I need a whiskey, neat."

We were always supposed to serve the High Rollers top shelf alcohol. The best of the best ... No specification needed, no questions asked, always. The next words hindered behind my lips for a moment. It was unprofessional, but that sexy asshole deserved it.

"Bottom shelf."

Isela: "What? You sure?"

"Super sure."

Isela: "Ok ... you got it."

Man, I was so annoyed that guy's arrogance, I couldn't wipe the scowl off my face. I can't imagine he's respected in any industry with an attitude like that. He's probably a trust fund baby, or some douche-bag reality star.

"Your whiskey, sir."

Anddd, he didn't say thank you. Instead, he spoke to his guard.

Jonah: "Cohen, how much longer can I play with these chips?"

Cohen: "Uhm ... uhm ..."

I could tell he was trying to do the math in his head.

Jonah: "Today, Cohen."

He slipped a sleek phone out of his pocked and feverishly began trying in numbers. Lucky for him, I was an accounting major, and math was my jam.

*whispers* "If he bets the table minimum of $2,500, he can get 17 more hands. So about 20 or 25 minutes not accounting for winnings."

He repeated to my words to his boss, who seemes satisfied with the answer. I glanced around the table for empty glasses, then reached to grab the few I had seen when a old fart grabs my butt.

Gross

"Sir, don't touch the servers."

Seat 4: "C'mon, baby. Don't girls l-like you always w-want a sugar daddy?"

Gross, gross, gross. Not today with this bullshit.

"Hey, J."

"Uh ... J? What are you doing?"

Jerron (High Roller's bodyguard): "Hey, Mel. I lost a crazy. Drunk frat boy. Took his shirt off. I'm afraid it'll turn into a full-on streaking incident."

"Well, if you have a minute, there's a creep in the High Roller's Lounge that needs to go. Seat 4."

Jerron: "Grabbing cards?"

"More like grabbing asses."

Jerron: "I got you, girl. I'll be there in a minute."

"Thanks, J."

I wanted nothing more than to see that creep getting shoved out of the casino. And he was ... but not by Jerron. Hell yeah!

I patiently waited for my guardian bouncer to return. Finally, I caught him out of the corner of my eye.

"Thank you for that. I appreciate."

Jonah: "You're thanking the wrong person."

There's no way ... Well, I guess maybe. A douche with a soft spot for damsels in distress. Probably thinks it'll be easier to get in their pants if he plays the hero.

"Well, thank you. I should get back to work."

Seat 4: "You!"

Oh, shit!

How did he weasel his way back in here? I could handle this chump for a few minutes until Jerron showed up ...

Seat 4: "Come here, little doll .. "

"Get away from me!"

I shoved him away so his grin-soaked lips wouldn't touch me.

Seat 4: "I said COME HERE!"

I squirmed as his clammy hands caressed my cheek and he struggled to bring my face toward his. He licked his lips as he eyed mine. His look of drunken, unhinged lust made me sick to my stomach. As his tongue slid out of his mouth like a snake, I decided to take action.

That is it. I'm done with this shit. I'm more than capable of saving myself.

I wriggled free and took a step back. As his eyes narrowed on me, I saw his fist clench. Then mine did the same. Kill or be killed, right? I balled my fist and railed it into his cheekbone with all my might.

Jerron: "Oh, shit ... They're not going to like this ..."

He meant the bosses. And he was right.

"But it was self-defense ..."

I was so busy marching to my own self-confident drum, I hadn't thought about this affecting my job.

Jerron: "Let me clean this up. You go ahead and take a break. I'll get someone to cover the rest of your shift."

How could I have not thought of the consequences? I knew I woudn't be finishing my shift. Not that I wanted to. I should just put my street clothes on. My entire body felt on edge ... It was probably the adrenaline. I couldn't calm the lightning bolts that zipped through my veins. And I didn't want to. I have never stood up for myself like that before. It felt good. It felt ... amazing. Maybe this was a whole new me. Then I remembered what Jerron said. The bosses. I was immediately struck with the worry of my job. I felt tears rise to the brim of my eyes.

Being alone in this locker room with my thoughts was getting to me. I need some fresh air.

As the warm desert air washed over me, I felt my mind and my body relax. I had to be positive. I had to-

"What the hell was that?"

Focus, Mel, ignore the delivery truck.

"Can't a girl worry in peace?"

"Who the hell keeps dropping shit?"

"Oh my God ... It can't be. Not him again."


End file.
